King of the Road
by thursdaysisters
Summary: Sam and Dean know the Leviathans are planning something big in Chicago.  Dean is forced to torture again, Bobby's in a coma, and Lucifer is back.  Rated for violence and sexual language.
1. Chapter 1

_I'm a maaaan of means by no means/King of the road._

The marine couldn't hear the radio in Dean's car. He couldn't even hear his own labored breathing as the Camaro sped up another notch, his eyes watering as his face sat inches from the asphalt hurtling past at eighty miles an hour.

"How long we gonna keep him tied to the hood of the car?" asked Sam, plucking a french fry from a paper bag.

"Til he tells us why his savings account jumped up a few decimal places after only working one day in Dick Roman's Chicago headquarters."

"We better ask," said Sam pulling out one of the green folders Bobby had snatched before getting shot, "Says here there's a Chicago drop-off scheduled for tonight."

"Anything that might tell us where it'll happen?" said Dean, slowing down and pulling off to the shoulder.

"Roman cut a deal with a local politician, a new piece of legislation that pays for drug addicts to be bused into downtown for rehabilitation."

"Man those farmers in southern Illinois are gonna lose a lot sleep when they hear all the crackheads were sacrificed to an ancient transdimensional lamprey-fish." said Dean, as he opened the car door.

He and Sam stood before the marine, burgers still wrapped in wax paper. "Hungry?"

"Go to hell."

"Can't, they kicked us out." said Dean.

"We're not going to kill you," Sam began, as the marine's eyes widened in horror, wondering if the rumors were true, "We just need to know what sort of work you did for Dick Roman."

"I got kids to feed."

"And you'll see them again soon," said Dean, mustard dripping down his hand, "If you tell us what you know."

The marine licked his lips nervously. "They put out a call for interrogators."

"They needed information from someone?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, this woman they keep in a warehouse on the south side of town," he said, "I don't know how she's even alive. They had a bunch of us switch out on different shifts, we tried everything short of putting a bullet in her brain, and she just laughed at us."

The brothers considered this. "You mind telling us where this warehouse is?"

A few minutes later and they were pulling up in front a four-story structure that could not boast a single unbroken window. A single security car had been placed at the entrance, but a well-placed punch to the neck took care of that.

Guns out in case back-up should arrive, they made their way down the stairs, into an unheated basement where a single naked lightbulb illuminated the woman strapped to the T-shaped table.

Dean grabbed a hank of black hair, until her eyes were level with his. "Hey Meg."

It took her a few seconds to smile, and when she did it was missing some teeth. "You working for Big Fish now?"

"If you mean Dick Roman, no," said Dean, "Why haven't you smoked out?"

"I got this cool tat, wanna see?" she said, nodding towards her left shoulder. Dean pulled back her shirt and, sure enough, an eldritch symbol was branded on her skin, the same one she'd burned into Sam a few years ago, locking her in her body.

"Why are they keeping you locked up?" Sam asked.

"Crowley sent me a few days ago," she said, "He dusted off some old spellbook that was supposed to, I dunno, turn their blood into wood or some crap."

"Did it work?" asked Sam hopefully.

She rolled her eyes. "What do you think?"

"So they're pumping you for information on Crowley now?" asked Dean.

"They're not afraid of him," she said, "They didn't want to risk me getting out and giving you two any useful information, not until the drop-off is complete."

The boys looked at each, confirming their suspicions. "Anything you wanna tell us?" asked Dean.

A little flame danced in her eyes. "Whatcha gonna put on the table?"

"We're not trading our souls, if that's what you mean-" Sam began, stopping when Dean held up a hand.

"What is it you want Meg?"

She looked at him, and then up at Sam. He understood her meaning, and turned to steer his brother toward the door.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"You don't need to see this."

"What does she want, does she want you to, you know..." Sam said, suddenly remembering her days with Ruby.

Dean pulled up short. "I did a lot of things in Hell, but, and let me make this clear, I never. EVER."

Sam bit back an ugly word, wondering at his brother's hierarchy of unforgiveable sins. "So what, she wants a favor?"

Dean looked around the room, cheap metal shelving climbing the walls and stacked with all kinds of implements. "She has this...thing she likes. Don't worry, give me half an hour and I should be able to get the information out of her."

Sam gave Meg a last dirty look before spinning on his heel and shutting the door behind him.

"I'm amazed he still trusts you," Meg said, "I can only imagine what Lucifer's been pouring in his ear.

Dean ignored her, running a finger along the shelves until he found what he was looking for.

"Ya know, they have some really talented guys here, giving me the once-over," she said conversationally, licking her teeth until they grew back in place, "Hunters, like you. Don't get me wrong, they didn't have your training, but enthusiasm goes a long way."

Dean plucked the necessaries off the shelf and stowed them on the little table by the interrogation rack.

"But really, when you're pouring hot grease down a girl's tits, nothing beats righteous anger." she said, her eyes tracking Dean lazily.

"Just shut up and give me a minute," he said, removing his socks and shoes and stowing them in a corner. Alastair had always insisted on going into a torture room barefoot. You had to respect the craft.

"I'm sorry about Jo, by the way." she said, ignoring his last comment as she watched him shrug off his jacket.

He straightened his tools on the table: a hammer, a knife, and three railroad spikes. The spikes would need to be heated, and he searched around for supplies.

"It's funny, you can tell when a girl's never had a full body orgasm," she said, as he began to light coals in a brazier, "Not sure how I know, must be they smell different afterwards. But I could tell with her."

Flames danced in Dean's face, and Meg could tell she'd hit the sweet spot. She pressed on.

"But don't feel bad, I mean, it was dark and she was concussed, and I can do a pretty fair imitation of your voice once I'm inside of Sam."

He looked up, and it was all Meg could do not to laugh at the look on his face. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"I wasn't her first, if that's what you're worried about," she continued, a smile playing at her lips, "She'd obviously had a few hunters before. But everything's a head game with girls, and she hadn't learned the trick of it with a man yet. She probably just used them as a slampiece for an hour or two, then got herself off once they were in the shower."

The railroad spikes began to glow red in the fire, little plumes of smoke rising off like penstrokes.

"But it's not the same if you feel like the man's not your equal," she said, "I didn't even have to say much, mostly 'Don't worry, we got away, we're safe now', and she couldn't tear her pants off fast enough."

Dean lifted the first spike with a pair of tongs, a muscle in his jaw working as he tried to ignore her.

"She really wished you could have been there when I got up inside of her."

He shut his eyes for a second, fighting with the image of a large hand tangled in Jo's hair, and then pulled the hammer back for the first strike.

Meg gave out a cry as it dug into her wrist, the bones cracking under the impact. Panting, she leered up at him and said, "Been a while, eh?"

He pulled back for another strike, the hot steel seering the skin until it bubbled and peeled back like cheap plastic, and kept hammering until he could feel it connect with the rack itself, the metal singing higher and higher as it plunged into wood and flesh.

"She really wanted it," she said, blowing her hair out of her eyes as she admired his handiwork, "Sam's so much taller, so she let me do her up against the wall, which, I have to say, is the best position cuz then you can REALLY get inside the girl."

Dean placed the second spike on the opposite wrist, his eyes averted as he gave the head an experimental tap.

"I mean, really in there, another inch and I'd have been hitting entrails. Have you looked in Sam's pants lately? It's Godzilla's tail down there, you're lucky you didn't try a night with her, compared to your brother you're probably hung like a tube of lipstick."

She had begun to sweat, her shirt clinging to her chest as she shivered with pain.

"I stretched her out and shaped her just for me."

The last spike went through her feet, pinning her like an insect.

"I don't think she meant to come, it just happened. Like a sneeze. But when it did, I think she realized who she was really with, and she said your name. Not in the 'Oh baby you're amazing' sort of way, but like she was apologizing."

"You're lying." he said, as he laid down the hammer and began to heat the knife in the coals. He had heard all manner of taunts in Hell, and he'd learned to take them calmly, or so he told himself.

"Fine, don't believe me, ask your brother. If he remembers anything about that night."

He lifted her shirt, and pressed the tip of the blade under her ribcage, his left hand held fast behind her neck, their eyes locked.

"You ready?" he asked.

She wasn't. She had one bullet left. "You know the worst part? She knew you'd see it as rape, and she was afraid that you wouldn't touch her out of respect, or else any sex would be a pity fuck on your part. So I think a part of her really wanted to enjoy Sam, because she knew he was the next best thing."

He slid the knife in a little bit, just to test the muscles underneath. She gasped, her eyes closed as a noise threatened to escape her.

"I swear, when this is over..." he said, leaning in next to her ear.

"Yeah baby, what are you gonna do to me?"

"I'm gonna break every bone in your face."

The knife went in a little more, and she leaned into him. "Then what are you gonna do?"

"Then I'll burn out your eyes and take out your tongue and cut you open from neck to navel."

She bit into his shoulder, but he kept her steady.

"I will fill your heart with spiders." he said, as the knife plunged into her heart.

Her eyes popped open, so black that he could see his reflection in them. "That's right, twist it." she hissed, as blood poured out over his hand.

He leaned in, corkscrewing the knife through bone and sinew, until her body arched against the table and she let out a bloodcurdling scream, his bare feet scraping against the cold concrete as he struggled to balance himself against her demon strength.

He gave her a minute, holding the knife in, as she caught her breath. When her eyes had gone back to normal, she huffed out a little sigh of contentment, and he asked, "Are we done?"

She nodded, and he dropped the blade on the floor, almost flinging it.

"You'd have made a great Roman Centurion." she said, as he wiped his hands off with a rag.

"Speaking of Roman..."

She gave a little snort. "Right. Back to business. The Leviathans made a deal with one of the Illinois senators, to refurbish a subway line that was discontinued a while back, the Black Line."

"Never heard of it."

"You wouldn't, it never ran in the first place. It's all underground, and it's perfect for shuttling men back and forth without anyone seeing. They'll be using it tonight to transport the human sacrifices."

"How do Sam and I get to it without anyone seeing us?"

"There's a back entrance in Rose Hill Cemetery. Ask any homeless guy, they'll tell you how to get in."

He almost thanked her, and instead reached to put his shoes back on.

"You know, out of all the guys in Hell, you were the only one that scared me." she admitted.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I've got a knife in you." he said, as he let the door swing shut behind him.

Sam looked up, concern writ large on his face as he stood up from a corner of the room. "What happened? Did she say anything?"

"She gave us an in, if we hurry we can get there while there's still daylight."

Sam nodded, and looked down at the dried blood on Dean's hands. "What did you do to her?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter."

Sam evaluated his brother, the flush in his cheeks, the wild look in his eyes.

"Don't give me that look," Dean said, "I'm not the one with the monster fetish."

"Oh come on," said Sam disbelievingly, "Of all the things I've done, all the people I killed-"

"-you killed because you had to, out of self-defense, or because we couldn't afford to let them live."

"Why are you so hung up on the women I've been with?"

Jo's face flashed thru Dean's mind. "Because it points to something worse."

Sam threw his hands up in frustration. "Whatever, can we talk about this while you're driving."

Dean let him walk ahead a few paces, looking down at his hands as the stains went from red to brown. Was Meg lying? he asked himself. Of course, she was born to drive good men to bad decisions.

Did he enjoy it?

Not this time, he told himself. But should a second or third opportunity arise...

"Dean, my clothes are going out of style over here, move it."

"Let me wash my hands dude," said Dean, as he walked out of the warehouse, his head back in the game, "They'll think I killed somebody."


	2. Chapter 2

NOTE TO READER: This story concept can get a little weird, so please comment if you feel like this makes zero sense, or if I need to flesh it out more.

* * *

><p>"Rosewood Cemetary's about a mile thataway," the kid said, flicking his eyes east, "You buying?"<p>

"We don't need drugs," said Sam, eyeing the two street urchins. One was tall, pale, and had his black hair slicked back to reveal a pronounced widow's peak, while the other was shorter, sicklier, and kept sucking on his collar, so that they made a ghetto-fabulous Dracula and Renfield. "We're trying to get to the train that runs beneath it, the one that Dick Roman bought, and we heard that there's an entrance hidden in Rosewood."

Dracula laughed. "The Black Line? That's just an urban myth."

"No it ain't," said Renfield, his gaze wary and yellow around the eyes, "I was down there last week, I got a crawlspace for when it rains, and I swear," he said, looking at the other boy, "I saw Smiley get on that train with about fifty other guys and none of them have come back."

"Smiley's in jail," Dracula said, giving Sam an apologetic look, "This morning he SWORE that his dog was possessed by Nixon's ghost."

"I ain't making this one up!" Renfield insisted.

"Whatever, it's a bad place," Dracula advised Sam.

"Will you take us there?" asked Sam.

Dracula seemed about to decline, when Sam showed him a twenty, and then he was all smiling acquiescence.

"Give us a few minutes, and then we'll head out," said Sam, walking back to Dean, who was still pouting in front of a department store.

"I don't need new clothes." said Dean, eyeing the mannequins suspiciously.

"Dean, you're covered in blood stains."

"No one's gonna notice."

"You can't walk through downtown Chicago looking like a Mayan sacrifice."

"If you're so concerned than why don't you go shopping?"

"That's a great idea, I saw something in there that has WINK WINK stitched across the front in sequins."

Dean gave him an ugly look, raising a forefinger to his brother's face. "I'm still keeping the bloody shirt."

"You do that."

"I look beautiful in this thing." he said, as he disappeared thru the revolving door.

The store had devoted ninety percent of its space to women's apparel and one small corner to men's. A morning talk show played in the background next to the front desk, and Dean kept his eyes down, hoping to avoid the sales girl walking his way.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Just getting a spare shirt."

"What happened to the one you've got on?" she asked warily.

"Oh, hunting accident." he said breezily, realizing his poor choice of words when she laughed nervously.

"Well I'll just...be over there." she said, pointing to the register, where she kept her taser nestled between sweater vests.

He was about to turn away when he noticed the angle of her back. "Were you in an accident?" he asked.

She looked back. "Oh, um, had some surgery done last week, still getting used to it."

"What are you taking for it?"

She gave him a look of haughty superiority. "It's nothing." she insisted, as she limped back to her chair, gritting her teeth as she lowered herself.

Not sure whether to admire her balls or offer his hip flask, he plucked a shirt off the rack and walked up to pay for it, idly listening to the talk show guest in the background.

_"Medicine was at its peak before they started using morphine. We got sick less and healed faster."_

"Who's that"? Dean asked, pointing to the lovely blonde on the TV.

"Do you watch Dr. Sexy MD?"

"Are you kidding?" he said, and then cleared his throat, dropping his voice to a manlier vocal range, "That's a lady show."

"Well she plays one of the characters on it."

Dean squinted at the screen, replaced blonde hair with brunette, and suddenly recognized Dr. Piccolo. "I may have seen her...once, I think, probably a magazine or something."

"She's been all over TV lately," the sales girl said, "She'd been strung out on who knows what, pills and alcohol, and then she came out of Roman Rehab recently and she's been preaching their gospel ever since."

Dean smiled, pressing his thumb to his tongue to count out the money. "Rehab you say?"

Outside, Sam tried to strike up a conversation with Renfield while Dracula walked away to talk to some kids further down the block. "You really oughta get some new friends," he told him, "And you need to see a doctor, your skin shouldn't be that color."

Renfield flinched. "The hospitals are full of crazy people."

"Well, it's an inner-city hospital-" said Sam, as the kids began to argue with Dracula over something.

"No man, used to there was one or two really...DANGEROUS guys, but we all kept out of their way. Now, there's hundreds, more than the doctors know what to do with, and they're not allowed to hand out meds anymore, so they dump them back on the street..."

"Wait, people aren't getting prescriptions?" asked Sam. The argument became louder, and it appeared that Dracula was trying to convince the group from doing something stupid.

"The doctors got this new rule." whispered Renfield, eyes darting nervously as the other kids pull out baseball bats.

_"Pain is power." _said the TV actress.

"She's kidding, right?" Dean asked the cashier incredulously, "I mean, okay, some people are abusing the system, but outlawing _all_ the painkillers?"

_"Nowadays doctors are so dependant on them that they've turned into pushers. If we want to restore American integrity, we need to learn to suck it up."_

Dean looked down at the register table, and noticed the magazine the cashier was reading. TEN SEXY WAYS TO RAISE YOUR PAIN THRESHOLD. SAFE WORDS ARE LAME WORDS. REESE WITHERSPOON: FASHION, FUN, AND ROUGH TRADE.

_"And as a prize for our studio audience, everyone here is invited to spray our guest with Mace!"_

Dean recoiled as he watched. "Holy crap, she's taking that in the eyes?"

"Isn't she amazing?" said the cashier adoringly.

Dean looked at her askance. Back in the day, John had used pepper spray on the boys to teach blind fighting, and Dean had had to wear sunglasses for the rest of the week. This chick acted like it was spray-tan.

Outside, Dracula ran away, grabbing Sam by the arm and saying, "Get your brother, I'll take you to Rosewood. We should be anywhere but here."

"What's going on?" asked Sam.

"A fight's gonna start, so get your brother and meet me at the end of the street."

Sam nodded, running to the department store. "Dean, we gotta go." he said once he was inside, "I talked to the kid, he'll take us to Dick Roman's train line, but we need to hurry before we run out of daylight."

"Dude, you have got to read this," said Dean, swiping the magazine along with his new shirt, "Is this a funky town or what?"

Sam looked out the window, at the people he didn't have time to help. "Oh it's just getting started."

The traffic light changed to red, and as the cars slowed to a halt, the older kids climbed on top of them. The women shoppers who filled the sidewalk paused to watch, though at a respectful distance.

_"Now the legislation appears to include anti-psychotic drugs, what do you expect those patients to do?"_

Raising their baseball bats in unison, they came down on the driver-side windows, pulling people out of their cars and taking the bats to them next. The onlookers stood by, waiting for the drivers to realize that the pain was all in their heads.

_"I don't know."_

When the drivers didn't stop screaming, the shoppers remembered that they were modern women, and walked away, disappointed.

_"But I expect them to do it."_

* * *

><p><em>TBC<em>


	3. Chapter 3

"You should have seen it," said Dean, as they climbed down the sewer ladder, "Dr. Piccolo from Dr. Sexy MD was on this talk show, taking a faceful of pepper spray from the audience members, and she didn't even blink."

"Demon?" Sam guessed.

"Maybe," said Dean uncertainly, "But Crowley's staying out of our way, why would a demon need to go on national television for extreme bukkake?"

"Bu-what?"

Dean flushed. "Nothing." he said, turning to ghetto-fabulous Dracula, "So when's the train usually come?"

"Should be soon," he said, looking at his watch, "A lot of guys sleep down here, so they'll slow down to give us a ride."

Dean nodded and motioned to Sam. "So, sun goes down in a few hours, I figure this train heads toward the water where the Leviathans are planning the human sacrifices, we shoot anything that doesn't bleed red and take the hostages home?"

"Are you sure the train goes to Lake Michigan?"

"Well yeah, where else would it go?" he said, walking back to sit beside the rail tracks and enjoy the fashion magazine he'd stolen. "Man these new ads are...something else."

Sam gave his brother a sideways glance. "You've been flipping through that thing a lot."

"It just doesn't make sense," said Dean, "I mean, did you see the women during the riot? No screaming, no cries for help, no nothing. You'd think they were at a golf tournament."

"Since when did you watch golf?"

"Hey hey, it's a sport," Dean snapped, "I mean, I'm not gonna stop chicks from going all Fight Club, but this is just..."

He trailed as he turned the pages. A shoe ad portrayed a beautiful carcrash victim, her skirt hiked up to reveal road rash up and down one side of her body. Another page showed a housewife with a black eye, posing seductively with a bottle of BRUS cologne. An exultant prize-fighter. A bartender holding a broken bottle between her and the observer.

Dean stopped at the last one, thinking she looked like Jo. Sam thought she looked more like Meg, and noticed that Dean had not changed out of his bloody shirt.

"He misses his old job." said Lucifer, peering over Dean's shoulder to read the magazine.

"Go away." Sam whispered.

"I mean," Dean said, not noticing Sam's little comment, "I think I see where Dick Roman is going with the new drug laws. It's like Prohibition, if you make all the pain-killers illegal, you create a black market for the stuff. Which puts more people in jail for 'drug-dealing'..."

"...which makes more people eligable for Roman's Rehab services." Sam finished, looking up to find Lucifer gone.

"But why make drug addicts just to treat them?" Dean asked no one in particular, "He could've crashed a plane, or blown up a cruise ship..."

Dean turned to look at Sam, and his eyes were black, his hands still bloody. "I mean, gotta be an easier way to kill people."

A high whistle broke Sam's reverie, as the Black Line train approached. When he blinked, Dean's eyes were normal again.

Dean had entertained visions of mad scientist engineering, with gears and billowing smoke and a calliope playing in the front car, but the actual train was so sleek that he was hard-pressed to find a seam in the panels.

"I'd better come with you," said Dracula, "You'll end up in Indiana without a map down here."

"Where's your friend?" Sam asked.

Dracula raised his hand as if to wave away a fly. "He's somewhere."

Several dozen men had boarded today, most of them older, all of them in some kind of pain, and uninterested in the newcomers. The train was nearly full, so the brothers made do with seats on opposite sides of the car, though whether it was better to sit by the engine or between strangers groaning in agony, Sam couldn't tell.

"Wouldn't you rather be someplace quiet?" asked Lucifer, standing outside on the platform, though his voice was as clear as if they were having a phone conversation.

Sam remained still. The man sharing his bench was sweating and whispering about insects crawling into his mouth, and he didn't want to frighten him even more. "Go away." he whispered.

The angel smiled. "Here, is your neighbor bothering you?" And drawing a line in the air, the old drunk disappeared.

"Go away." Sam whispered again as the angel took the seat next to him.

"Come on man, all the other seats smell like cat pee."

Sam turned around in his seat, and found that Renfield had squeezed between two old hobos behind Sam.

"Sorry, I thought...wait, what are you doing on the train, I thought you were gonna stay in the city?"

Renfield ducked his head. With his permanently spooked expression, rings around his eyes, and acute hepatitis, he looked like a jack-o-lantern in a hoodie. "I thought I could help you guys."

Sam tried not to look to his right, knowing the kid had enough street experience to smell crazy a mile away. "Good idea, we can always use a native guide."

The kid smiled, as a courtesy at least.

"So what prescription were you on before the new law took effect?" Sam asked, eager to keep his head in one place.

Renfield looked away. "Anti-depressants."

"Something happen to you?" asked Sam.

Lucifer looked at Sam, and then around the train wearily, as if it were an old Christmas tree that needed to be taken down. The lights began to flicker, and suddenly the train smelled coppery, sharp, like blood in a frying pan.

"My dad died a coupla years back." Renfield began.

Lucifer lifted his hand, and all the noise and chatter ceased, save for Renfield's voice, which spindled and distorted until it seemed to be coming from another room.

"He was a drunk and hardly ever home, but he was the least screwed up person in the family."

Placing his hand on the window, the glass softened until it became a thin membrane under Lucifer's touch, black veins criss-crossing it like necrotic frost, sloughing off in sheets to reveal the yawning void on either side of the train tracks.

"He was the only one who loved me." said Renfield, his eyes watering.

One window pane, two, four, his hand a grey spider as it pressed to the glass. The train was only a shell now, the engine an underlying hum the Sam felt in his teeth as he watched the last light flicker and die.

"After the funeral, I stopped by my friend's apartment," he said, meaning Dracula, "He had just taken something, and he had this big smile on his face."

In that infernal darkness, it was very easy to believe that everyone in the world was dead, save for Sam and the Devil, and the kid's voice tying him to the real world like a telephone can on a string. He found it oddly comforting.

"And I said to him, 'Gimme whatever it is you're taking'," Renfield finished, tears spilling down his face, "'Cuz I don't wanna feel this'."

The train picked up speed, and the sudden lurch brought Sam back to the present- - -the impossible mission, the noise, the lights, the smell of the old man next him where Lucifer had been. As if he'd awakened _into_ the bad dream.

Renfield's watery eyes peeped out at him from his hoodie, and Sam hesitated, not wanting to one-up the kid with his own daddy issues. "My dad died too," Sam managed, "It gets better. And at least you've still got your friend." he said, gesturing to Dracula.

"That's crap," Renfield said bittlerly, "He's not my friend, he's a user-dealer who enjoys watching his customers scratch off their own skin, you think I wanna stick around when he finally fries his brain with his own product?"

He thought about Dean, the look on his face when they left the warehouse, the blood on his hands, and wondered what kind of road his brother was walking down when he heard his name called.

"Sammy, the train's slowing," Dean said in his ear as they made their way down the hall, "Let's get to the door, no telling what kind of security they've hired for this operation."

Sam nodded, and felt for the 9mm tucked in his pants. Together, they made their way to the front, walking slowly to give themselves time to adjust to the dark. When the train came to a halt, several pairs of shoes clicked against tile, the voice nearest to the door giving a hushed command.

"On three..." said Dean, tightening his grip on his gun.

Sam nodded, breathing thru his mouth and not liking the odds one bit.

"One..."

Hands slid the main bolt to one side.

"Two..."

A chink of light shone through a gap in the door.

"Thr-wait, put away the gun Sam." said Dean.

"What?" Sam asked, looking up as Dean's hand came down on his gun, hiding it behind his arm. The door opened and the boys had to shield their eyes against the blinding light of...a tastefully decorated waiting area.

"Welcome," said the small army of uniformed nurses, "to Roman Rehabilitation."


End file.
